


I’ll Be Good

by reigningqueenofwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Other, Talk of anger, talk of blood, talk of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 16:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16857736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reigningqueenofwords/pseuds/reigningqueenofwords
Summary: Based on I’ll be good - Jaymes Young?





	I’ll Be Good

**Author's Note:**

> Based on I’ll be good - Jaymes Young?

John stared in the mirror, and for a moment, he thought it was someone else entirely staring back. The darkness under his eyes, the red that was a sharp contrast to the white of his eyes, the weariness written across his face. For a moment, he thought he saw the devil, that he wouldn’t have to hunt anymore. And then it passed. The man staring back at him was someone he never thought he’d become.

The taste of rum from the night before sat on his tongue, thick. Grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste, he thought over his life. How had he come this far? How had he let himself become this? He never meant to watch his world burn- from a fire that came from him. He never meant to watch you bleed- from a wound that he caused. Your death made him tell himself he’d be a better man.

Every morning, he’d tell himself that he’d be good. He’d do good. He’d push down the anger, and the hatred. John tried to focus on the good, the caring, the loving, and the positive. More often than not, his resolved would slowly wither away, exposing what was underneath.

No matter how much he drank, no matter how many women had kept him warm at night, his past was always there. Always leaving a bitter taste that nothing could wash away. So, he fought back with his fist. In the only way that felt even remotely right. He saw mercy, and graceness as a weakness. That’s what he had heard, over and over again. He’d perfected the cold gaze, the armor of mercilessness.

His eyes shot to the reflection of his hand that was holding his toothbrush. Bruised, and cut up. Just the night before his hands had been covered in blood. Not all of it his own. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, spitting into the sink. His hands rested on the sides, the same hope passing through his mind that always did. That this was some nightmare. That he would wake up next to you, holding you, and he’d see your smile again.

Putting his toothbrush down, he turned on the cold water and splashed his face. Once he turned it off, he looked up, water dripping down. He promised himself today would be different. Today he would embrace the light that he’d shut out long ago. He’d stop doubting innocence. He had to repent- for the bruises, the tears, the bloodshed, the fire inside of others that I’ve killed, for all the horrible things I’d done over the years.

For you.

He turned and opened the bathroom door. “Alright boys. We got a case to solve.” He said sternly, hiding any pain that had been written on his face.


End file.
